Page 14 of Bourbon Girl, Part 3
cuts the process of separating the heads, hearts, and tails during distillation
THE TOUR bus felt cavernous with only three customers.
A retired couple from Ohio sat together in the middle section, while a lone businessman from Chicago had claimed a window seat near the front.
Their conversations barely registered above the engine's rumble, creating an awkward emptiness that made every word I spoke echo with hollow enthusiasm.
The Ohio couple nodded politely while the businessman continued scrolling through his phone, clearly more interested in his email than bourbon heritage.
At each stop throughout the day, our tiny group looked lost among larger tour companies with full buses and animated guides. The situation was made worse by the sympathetic glances from other tour operators who seemed to be noticing Birdwhistle's decline.
When we returned to the strip mall office at day's end, the tip jar held exactly seven dollars and thirty-two cents, barely enough to split between me and Jett.
The businessman had departed with a curt nod, while the Ohio couple had offered apologetic smiles and a promise to recommend us online, though we both knew that single positive review wouldn't offset the damage already done.
"Well, that was depressing," I said as Jett and I divided the pathetic collection of bills and loose change.
"Business was already slipping before Teresa came back," Jett said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd watched the company's slow deterioration. "But I think she's going to hasten its demise. I blame those recent bad reviews on her making customers uncomfortable with her nitpicking."
He leaned against the bus's exterior, his expression more serious than I'd ever seen it. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, emphasizing the tired lines around his eyes.
"I'm going to start looking for another job," he continued quietly. "You should think about it too. This ship is sinking, and there's no point going down with it."
The words hit me like a physical blow, though I couldn't understand why.
I'd come to Kentucky temporarily, hadn't I?
This was supposed to be a short-term arrangement while I searched for my father—not a permanent career change.
Yet the thought of losing his steady presence that had become such an integral part of my routine, felt unexpectedly devastating.
"Where would you go?" I asked, surprised by the tremor in my voice.
"Not sure yet. Maybe back to full-time farming, or find another company that needs drivers." He shrugged, but I caught the disappointment he was trying to hide. "What about you?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. My thoughts went to the college enrollment papers I'd been avoiding.
The deadline was approaching, and I'd successfully pushed the decision to the back of my mind while waiting for Sam Church's test results.
I preferred to make life-changing choices one at a time, but my hand might be forced.